


Home Again

by Got_Well_Soon



Series: Skate AU [8]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Driving, F/F, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Got_Well_Soon/pseuds/Got_Well_Soon
Summary: Max & Chloe each enjoy a comfortable moment of contemplation in their favorite places.





	1. Chapter 1

Max had gone quiet, and Chloe glanced at her across the truck’s bench seat. Sound asleep, head resting against the glass. Well, it was pretty late, with a couple of hours to go before they reached Arcadia Bay. She returned her eyes to the road, leaned back in her seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel.

Highway 101 was never really empty, but there weren’t many other cars at this hour, just the occasional bright lights of a semi zipping past in the opposite direction. The road curved gently through tightly packed conifers. Here and there a sign, very rarely a turn off, every once in a while a small town, most not much different from Arcadia Bay. It looked like this, more or less, for eight hundred miles, from the tip of the Olympic Peninsula to deep into California, where the trees finally gave way to vineyards and oak savannah.

Chloe took a sip of coffee from the cardboard to-go cup, breathed in the pickup’s distinct smell, intensified by the warmth of the heater. Oil, old vinyl, still a hint of cigarette smoke after all these years. The cab was festooned with stickers, augmented with a few pasted-up instant photos, more of which scattered loose amongst the debris on the floor. If she picked any of them up at random, she would find a selfie, some frozen moment of her life with her best friend, now sleeping contentedly across from her. Besides Max herself, the photos were the only evidence that she wasn’t still seventeen, making that first trip to Seattle. Ten years. It didn’t feel like it.

She had been driving for hours — or was it years? — the view through the windshield never changing. She felt unmoored in time, the outside world fading into irrelevance. She had been driving this road, in this truck, since she was a teenager, and she felt that she always would. The truck had always smelled of cigarettes, always would. Max had always been beside her, always would. Chloe knew that she would eventually get tired of driving and that she had a home and a life and bills to pay, never forget about the bills, but in the moment it seemed that she could drive forever. The highway need never end, the view need never change, the sun need never rise. She was where she wanted to be, in her truck, on the highway, with Max, her destination still far over the horizon.

She was home.

* * *

Max awoke, groggy, as the truck pulled into the driveway.

“Oh, we’re here already?” she said, briefly confused. “Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Chloe grinned at her wearily. “No worries, you didn’t miss much. I’m ready to crash though.” She yawned, opened the door and stepped into the night air, throwing out her arms to stretch.

Max opened her own door and got out, trying to close it quietly behind her. The night was cold and clear and very still, quiet except for the chirping of distant frogs, and the occasional far-off car passing through town. A half moon sank toward the horizon, just above the ocean which Max couldn’t see, but could smell, a hint of salt in the air.

She’d never hated Arcadia Bay the way Chloe did. She’d left before she had a chance to get sick of it, and it always felt like like home in a way Seattle didn’t quite manage. Of course, her actual childhood house had been sold when she was thirteen. But this house, Chloe’s house, was just as much home, she'd spent so much time there.

Chloe unlocked the door, led the way into the dark house. They stepped quietly, to avoid waking Joyce and David, and proceeded up to Chloe’s room, shutting the door gently behind them.

It remained as it had always been. A surface layer of Chloe’s teenage self, accreted over the deeper strata of their entwined childhoods. The height measurements on the wall, and the angry graffiti covering them. A crazy collage of magazine clippings, posters, stickers, postcards, some fading, some replaced with newer photos. The American flag, the string of Christmas lights, the ancient stereo. Even the old analog TV, despite the fact that it hadn’t been turned on in years and Max was pretty sure there weren’t any signals for it to pick up anymore.

And most importantly, the smell. The whole house had a particular scent, and Chloe’s room most of all, even though she didn’t live in it anymore. It suffused the aging mattress and the dust and the walls themselves.

Chloe crossed the hall to brush her teeth, while Max sat on the bed, taking in the familiar scene for the thousandth time. There was no pretense of adulthood here, no real evidence that they’d ever grown up, left home, started careers, fended for themselves. In this room, they were kids again, teenagers, young lovers, any age at all. The room was the same, felt the same.

Joyce had wanted to “clean it up”, and had been taken aback by the ferocity of Max’s response.

“No!” she’d insisted, “I lost my house and my home town and William and Bongo and this room is what’s left of my childhood! _Please_ don’t mess with it!”

Chloe, wide eyed, had looked from Max to her mother. “What she said.”

Chloe returned from the bathroom, and Max took her turn; they just had the one toothbrush. She returned to find her wife already asleep. Sliding into bed, Max reveled in the familiarity of it all, the soft breeze through the window, the old flag waving gently beside the bed.

She was home.


	2. Chapter 2

Yawning, Joyce stepped into the hall. Chloe’s door was closed, meaning the girls had gotten in the prior night as planned. It was a little before dawn; years of working the morning shift had left her unable sleep in, even now that she was down to four days a week. She could take her time making breakfast and still have it ready before everybody else woke up.

She set the coffee brewing, then lounged at the table, killing time reading the news on her phone. Nothing good going on out in the wide world, but she didn’t let it bother her. Arcadia Bay had seen some hard times, but things had turned around after a new generation got priced out of Portland and discovered the charm of small towns. It was nice, people were moving in, starting families. Eating at the Two Whales.

As the sky brightened outside, she poured herself a cup of joe, humming to herself. Cooking for four was better than cooking for two. Would it be five any time soon? She knew they weren’t going to say, so she wouldn’t ask. The day would probably come eventually. And if it didn’t, it didn’t.

She opened a package of bacon, the good stuff, too expensive to serve at the diner, laid thick strips out on a pan, and slid it into the oven. Next, waffle batter, a recipe she knew by heart. She took down a bowl, tossed in the ingredients, measuring by eye, whisked it all together with a practiced hand, set it aside. Switched on the waffle iron, a new double model David hot gotten her as a gift. She cracked eggs into another bowl, beat them with a little salt and cream. As she did so, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Mornin’,” said David. “Full spread huh? You spoil ‘em.”

“Hush. They drove for hours to get here. Least I can do is give them a good breakfast.”

David poured himself a mug of coffee, leaned against the counter. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t complain. I get a waffle too, right?”

“Extra crispy. Guard your bacon though, you know Chloe’ll eat it all if you let her.”

“Oh, I remember. I’m prepared to defend my breakfast with my life.”

Joyce chuckled. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.” The bacon was starting to cook, the kitchen filling with the smokey aroma. It wouldn’t be long before they smelled it upstairs. She got to work on the eggs.

As if on cue, she heard the bedroom door open, followed by Chloe’s voice. “First one at the table gets the first waffle!”

And Max. “No fair, you’re already dressed!”

“Why would I play fair?! I want that waffle!”

“We’ll see about that!” Joyce heard some sort of scuffle.

“Hey! Eeek!” cried Chloe, followed by a loud thump. “Ow!”

Max came charging down the stairs in a bathrobe, still tying it closed as she ran. Chloe, in sweat pants and a t-shirt, followed close behind, yelling, “You asked for it, Caulfield!”

“Caulfield?!” Max asked, mocking. “Who’s that?!” It had been years since she had used that name. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Chloe grabbed Max around the waist, hurling her bodily onto the couch. “Oof!” cried Max, scrambling to get up, too late.

Chloe whipped out a chair and sat neatly at the table, then looked over at Joyce, calm and cheerful as can be. “Waffle time!” she chimed.

Joyce gave her a look of feigned disapproval. “This is how you treat your wife? Your father raised you better.”

Chloe stared, momentarily flummoxed. “I…” she began, as Max took her seat at the table, suddenly prim, smoothing her robe and looking down her nose at Chloe.

“Indeed,” Max said, “as the lady of the household I think I am, by rights, entitled to the first waffle.”

Chloe recovered her sense, rolled her eyes. “Oh, some _lady._ ” She pointed back toward the stairs. “Says the woman who just goosed me and pushed me onto—“

“Chloe!” Joyce protested. “What you two do in there is your business and it’s certainly not mine.”

“I just mean—“

Max grinned. “First rule in any sport. If the ref doesn’t see it, it’s not a foul.”

Chloe pouted. “That’s not the _first_ rule.”

Behind Joyce, the waffle iron beeped, and she turned, popped out the waffles, and made up two plates of waffle, eggs, and bacon, setting one in front of each of them. “Well, I hate to disappoint you two, but the waffle iron’s been upgraded.”

Chloe huffed as she dug in. “Where’s the fun in that?”

David answered from the kitchen. “I’m still waiting for mine, and I was definitely here first.”

“Weren’t at the table, soldier-boy,” Chloe answered around a mouthful. “You heard the rules.”

David sipped his coffee. “Can’t argue with that.” He made his way to the table, sat down.

Joyce smiled at him, ladled more batter into the waffle iron. “What are you girls up to today?”

“Whales,” said Max.

Joyce looked at her quizzically. “Whales?” The Pacific grays were migrating north that time of year, a near constant parade of mother/calf pairs hugging the coastline, staying safe from orcas as they headed for Alaska. The diner had been named after this.

“Got a new telescopic lens,” said Max. “I want to get some shots of them from the clifftop, where they go around the rocks.”

“Not gonna work,” said Chloe.

“You don’t know that!”

“You can’t get good photos of sea creatures from _outside_ the water, Max.”

“I suppose you want to dive with them.”

“Hell yes!”

“Anyway,” Max continued, “I think if we can get the right angle we’ll be able to see them pretty well from above.”

Chloe shrugged. “Plus I haven’t tagged that lighthouse in a while. Don’t want them to forget about me.”

Joyce popped two more waffles out of the iron, carried plates to the table, and sat down across from David. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said. “Pass the syrup.”

As Joyce ate, the girls — her girls — continued to bicker and laugh. Chloe had so much of William in her, the same easy intelligence which had charmed her thirty years prior. And Max kept her on an even keel, gentler, quieter, and every bit as smart. They were so good together, as they had always been. These were Joyce’s favorite times.

They were home.


End file.
